


Birthday in the Country

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5713312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going to Sherlock's families home in the country for his birthday was never going to be boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday in the Country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Willie_The_Plaid_Jacket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willie_The_Plaid_Jacket/gifts).



John looked out at the countryside as they drove. “So this is your great-aunt Myrtle?” he asked, fidgeting with his tie.

“Yes. And, as usual, she’s insisting on throwing this ridiculous birthday party for me in a misguided attempt to ‘set me up’. Which is why you’re here.”

John raised his head. “Wait, so I’m supposed to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?” His heart skipped a bit at the thought. “I’m not gay, Sherlock.”

“I’m aware,” Sherlock kept his voice terse and carefully void of emotion. “It’s only for the weekend, after all.”

“Your whole family is mad,” muttered John.

Sherlock inclined his head in silent agreement and turned into an ancient drive towered over by equally ancient trees. John’s eyes widened as they pulled up. “Christ, Sherlock, this is a bloody manor.”

“I did tell you to wear the other suit,” said Sherlock, getting out as a servant came to park the car.

“I should have worn my uniform,” said John, tugging his suit coat down. Sherlock watched as he took a breath and set his shoulders. “Right. So I’m your boyfriend.” John swallowed hard and offered Sherlock his arm.

Sherlock was surprised by the gesture, but accepted it, letting John lead him to the entrance. Another servant opened the door as they mounted the stairs and they stepped inside. 

A woman who looked as old as the drive and trees swept in from a side room. “Sherlock, so good to see you,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes. “Late as always.” Her gaze turned to John. “And who is this?”

“John Watson. My boyfriend.” Sherlock didn’t look at John as he spoke and put on a smile for her.

Aunt Myrtle clasped her hands together.”Oh, how delightful. I’m afraid Roger will be disappointed. Well, come in, come in. Everyone else is here.”

Sherlock led John into what could only be called a ballroom. A small group of musicians played in one corner for the handful of people who were there. There was a clutch that looked to be Aunt Myrtle’s age, some others that looked like Sherlock’s parent’s age and, John was glad to see, Mycroft, putting on his usual cool demeanor as he sipped his wine.

“Everyone, this is Sherlock’s boyfriend, John Watson,” announced Aunt Myrtle.

There was spontaneous clapping from most of the crowd, a scowl from someone who was probably the aforementioned Roger, and a raised eyebrow from Mycroft, along with a cunning smile.

John leaned up and gave a peck to Sherlock’s cheek for show. Mycroft’s eyebrow made a break for his hairline, but then he turned away.

“Yes, well, it’s been a long drive, Aunt Myrtle. John and I will just….freshen up a bit.”

“Of course, deary. Supper is nearly ready.”

“No problem.” Sherlock turned and practically dragged John away and up the stairs.

John found his adrenaline pumping like they were on a case as Sherlock hauled him into a bedroom and shut the door. “Christ, Sherlock, this is ridiculous.”

“You are not required to kiss me,” said Sherlock going to the mirror to primp.

“Well, if I’m supposed to be your boyfriend…”

There was a shout from downstairs. John and Sherlock shared a look, then darted back down to the ballroom. The man who was probably Roger had crumpled to the floor. John was by his side in an instant. “I’m a doctor,” he said as he knelt down. Aunt Myrtle looked pleased, despite the fact that John was unable to find a pulse.

Sherlock crouched by John’s side. “Poison?” he asked, noticing some discoloration.

“Looks like.” He raised his head. “You should call the police.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I can have this solved in under an hour.”

“I’ll see if the phone lines are working; they often aren’t.” Aunt Myrtle gestured to one of her servants. “Is he dead?”

“It certainly does appear that there is a dead man in your ballroom,” said Sherlock, standing and looking around at the assembled guests with suspicion.

Mycroft had surreptitiously dumped his wine into one of the potted plants. “Come with me, brother mine.”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock followed him. “I don’t suppose this is a birthday present is it?”

“No Sherlock, it’s not.” Mycroft led him into the kitchen. “There are a number of guests here that could have had motive for Roger’s death. I’m certain you can ferret out the correct answer as quickly as you can claim. I also know that you and John are not, in fact, as they say, ‘an item’.”

“It’s great-aunt Myrtle, I certainly wasn’t going to come up here empty handed. And given that her attempt at a suitor is now deceased, it probably is for the best. Now did you pull me aside to interrogate me about my personal life or shall I solve a murder?”

“By all means. It is your birthday, after all.” Mycroft gestured him out.

The guests were all still milling about the ballroom in small bunches. John and another man had put Roger on a divan for the time being, out of the way.

Without preamble, Sherlock started asking questions, John moving to his side.

“The police are on their way,” said Aunt Myrtle after nearly thirty minutes.

Sherlock turned towards his aunt. “It’s either him or her,” he said pointing.

The two accused turned and looked at each other.

Mycroft cleared his throat from behind him. “I do believe it’s both of them in collusion.”

Sherlock glared at him. He looked at the man. “He was your cousin, yes?”

“How did you…”

“And you. You have a gardening hobby, it’s plain in your fingers. You provided the poison.”

She sputtered.

“So, I assume you stand to inherit with the deceased out of the way. Boring. Pedestrian.” Sherlock crossed his arms and threw himself into a chair.

The both tried to head for the door, only for the police to pick that moment to walk in. Aunt Myrtle fluttered around, explaining the situation to them while Sherlock sulked. Not even a good birthday present.

“Brilliant, Sherlock,” said John, perching at the edge of his chair while the police and paramedics cluttered the place up. “Come on, let’s head upstairs while they get this sorted.”

Sherlock grumbled but allowed himself to be led.

John led him into the bedroom. “Only your family, Sherlock.” He shook his head.

Sherlock put his hand on the dresser only to hiss.

“What is it?” asked John, taking his hand and turning it over.

“Just a splinter.” grumbled Sherlock, starting to pull his hand away.

John held on firmly and looked down. “I don’t have tweezers on me, but I think I can get it out. Stay still.”

Sherlock watched in fascination as John’s thick fingers delicately grasped the sliver of wood and extracted it.

“There you go.” John found himself loathe to let go of his hand, looking up at him.

Sherlock bit his lip, clearly just as hesitant.

“Oh, sod this,” muttered John, leaning up to give him a proper kiss.

Sherlock went stock still for a heartbeat, then kissed him back, hard, nudging him back towards the bed. 

Growling low in his throat, John grabbed the back of Sherlock’s neck, flipping them so the detective landed on his back on the bed.

Sherlock’s eyes were wide, but he was unresisting as John tackled his shirt buttons. Getting to skin, he leaned down and fastened his lips around one pert nipple. Sherlock moaned and arched up against him. “John,” he panted.

Raising his head. John met his gaze. “Do you want this, Sherlock?”

Smirking, Sherlock took John’s hand and put it on the erection straining his trousers. “What do you deduce?”

“Then get out of those clothes,” ordered John, slipping off the bed and getting rid of his own. He joined Sherlock a few moments later, kneeling between now delightfully bare thighs as he kissed him again, tangling his hands in his hair.

Sherlock reached down and wrapped his large hands around both their erections.“This is a much better birthday present,” he whispered.

John smiled against his lips and rocked his hips. “When we get home, I am shagging you senseless.”

All Sherlock could do was moan underneath him. John pinned his other wrist, pressing claiming kisses to his lips and jaw. Sherlock’s breath came in short pants and it seemed like only moments later he was coming. John groaned and followed him over as his hand squeezed them both.

“God, Sherlock,” John moaned, moving to his side. He tucked his head against Sherlock's shoulder. “Guess that means we really are something.”

“Do you want to be?” asked Sherlock cautiously. 

“Yeah, Sherlock. I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
